


Something Old, Something New

by youreyestheyglow



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone: Balance (Podcast)
Genre: Multi, idk if this will be longer but it probably won't get smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:50:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyestheyglow/pseuds/youreyestheyglow
Summary: Johnusedto be a motivational speaker. Now he's just tired.And then he meets Merle Highchurch, new neighbor and distressingly capable gardener, and starts to consider waking up.





	Something Old, Something New

It started when I was giving a speech. A company had hired me for the afternoon, and I was telling their employees all about the power of working together, the power of making sure that your short time on this earth left an impact--hinting at death makes people more eager to live, a fun pointer I had given to the company’s boss free of charge. I talked, too, about volunteering to do extra work,  _ new _ work, because change kept our brains busy and happy, and, and, and, yadda yadda yadda, I could’ve been asleep and no one would’ve noticed. 

And then I went home.

And, well, yeah, change keeps us going. Something different, something new. Like tigers in a cage, we need a new toy to bat around so we don’t bore the visitors. 

And then I started thinking about eternity. 

Eternity is a long time. 

A  _ very _ long time.

And what do we get in eternity? An afterlife? There’s no change there. Continued growth? How much new stuff can there be? Nothingness?  _ Forever _ ? 

And then I stopped going to my appointments. I cancelled a tour. I contemplated leaving my apartment, but, well, why bother? When I died, I knew I’d be doing the same thing forever, so may as well start early. What’s an extra few years?

Except that then I missed a payment, and maybe the build-up of takeout boxes in the trash started to smell, and, boom, eviction notice.

So I called up a retail agent and told her I wanted a house. I had the money--I’d been a  _ very _ successful motivational speaker, I just traveled too much to see the sense in a house. She called me up and told me she had a place in mind.

It was--ugly. Really just hideous. And  _ dark _ , black with brown shades, high gables, a nearly-dead lawn, but that’s how I felt, so I decided it was suitable. 

Of course, its neighbor was a brightly-colored eyesore of a mansion, with add-ons in every direction, looking like it had been built by 10 different people who hated each other. The garden was absolutely  _ thriving _ . 

But, well, what was I gonna do, go house hunting? I offered to pay the listed price on the spot, and moved in two weeks later, with two garbage bags of clothes and a box of shoes. I’d trashed everything else. It all smelled like moldy pizza. 

And now I’m here, standing outside in the sun, determinedly wearing a trim suit and watering my grass while my neighbor--one of my neighbors?--waters his grass with a watercan that never seems to empty, wearing shorts that come down to mid-calf (I know for a fact that the clothing store two blocks away sells clothes for dwarfs) and a hawaiian shirt that’s either too small on him or a crop top, or both. His sunglasses are neon green. I hate him. 

“That grass looks pretty good, neighbor,” he calls genially over the hedges separating our properties, hedges which I intend to grow as tall as is physically possible.

“Thank you. Yours too.”

He laughs. I’m fairly certain that what I said wasn’t funny. “Thanks. You do know it’s about a hundred degrees out, right?”

“I’ve noticed.”

“There’s no homeowner’s association in this neighborhood--there was, but then they said they didn’t like how the house was growing, and they didn’t like death coming to visit, and they didn’t like my fashion style, and they didn’t like this and that and a third and whatnot, and--and anyway, the point is, you’re allowed to wear shorts. There’s no need for a full suit in the middle of summer, buddy.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

I water very determinedly, spraying the hose in a perfectly controlled fashion. I am concentrating. I am busy. I am hoping he will take the hint. 

“Y’know,” he says, from much closer than where he was before. He’s resting his arms on bushes that I swear were too tall for that just a minute ago. “You could really use some help with your lawn. No offense, friend, it’s looking a little bit dead, and I think you’re probably overwatering it.”

I turn the hose off. “I thought you said my grass was looking pretty good?”

“Oh. You thought I said  _ grass _ ?” He looks me over, and I get the distinct impression that my suit is, perhaps, more formfitting than I had previously considered. “No, your  _ grass _ looks pretty fuckin’ dead, if I do say so myself. Anyway, I’m a follower of Pan, so natural stuff is kinda my thing, if you catch my drift,” he says with a laugh and a wink, and I’m--

\--thrown completely off-balance.

Oh.

I blink at him.

“Oh.”

“Doesn’t have to be today, neighbor, you just let me know. I’m around most of the time, and my schedule’s pretty flexible, so--whenever you’re ready. My name’s Merle, by the way. And your name is…?”

“John. My name is John.”

He doesn’t reach out a hand for a handshake. And that’s new and different, too. 

“Good to meet you, John, my friend. I’ll see you around, I’m sure. And, uh, don’t stay out here too long. Not that I’m not enjoying the view, but you’ll get heatstroke.”

He waves, winks, and heads into his house.

I wind up the hose, slowly but purposefully, and look at my lawn, and it looks different. Different. Like something with potential.

I look at the Monstrous Mansion next door. 

Maybe Merle is watching me from one of the myriad, oddly-sized, oddly-placed windows.

I head inside at double my usual speed. 

But, well, maybe, just maybe, I could use a little help with my grass. 


End file.
